


The Spice of Life

by cazflibs



Series: The Ace Chronicles: Slash! [9]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: Sex, Lister had once rather eloquently surmised to himself, was like Indian cuisine. Sure, it was wonderful to sit down at the table to a delicately-crafted, three-course exotic meal (resplendent with chutneys and pakoras) that took the entire evening to lovingly savour. But sometimes what you desperately craved was to devour a deliciously-disgusting, chilli-sauce-soaked kebab up against the wall of an alley.





	The Spice of Life

It may have been a short revisitation of the life he'd once lead, but it had left Rimmer craving more.

Even in his dreams it still felt so intensely real. The surge of adrenaline as he blasted the Jadoo guards through the doorway. The rush as his focus shifted from Lister’s distant, expectant smile to the guards that stood in the way of the man he loved. The bubbling excitement as he drew back his fist to show them _all_ what he was capable of, before -- 

Snorting awake, Rimmer’s focus ricocheted back and forth across the Sleeping Quarters in frantic assessment before dropping blearily to his chest. Even lost in slumber, Lister’s arm was latched onto him. As it always was. 

Rimmer flopped back down onto the pillow with a sigh. He may have been retired for almost two months now, but ‘Ace’ still coursed through his veins; his pent-up energies now jiggling impatiently through his right leg. 

After rescuing Lister from the Jadoos early yesterday morning, it was unsurprising that he'd woken up on edge; buzzing with a furious need for release. This was obviously going to be one of those days that he'd need to start with an intense workout to release his frustrations safely. He'd quickly learned that lesson after he'd once ‘reset’ the faulty NaviComp screen by inserting it into the nearest trash compactor.

He stretched out with a wide yawn before inadvertently sinking back into the warm, welcoming cradle of Lister’s body. A primal stirring in his gut growled appreciatively as he nuzzled his arse into the heat of the man’s crotch. Or perhaps he could…?

Restraint rapped his knuckles. _Workout,_ it reprimanded. _You don't want ‘you-know-what’ happening again, do you?_

Rimmer swallowed awkwardly, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Absolutely not. He couldn't let Lister be on the receiving end of _that_ again. No, he needed to get down to the ship’s gym and pronto.

Biting his lip, Rimmer carefully inched his way forward to begin the intricate process of extracting himself from Lister’s embrace. Besides, given the man’s penchant for lie-ins, he could easily fit in a two-hour session before the Scouser even began to emerge into the Land of the Living.

As he began to slip out of the bed, the arm suddenly stiffened unyielding, holding him in place. Rimmer’s face split into a lazy grin, an amused chuckle not far behind it. Maybe not.

“Nice try.” Lister’s teasing was lost, muffled, somewhere between his bare shoulders. “But you ain't goin’ anywhere, sunshine. Day off, remember?”

“I thought you were asleep.” Rimmer trailed tempted fingers across the dark hairs of the man’s arm before his hand begrudgingly rubbed at them to bargain for his freedom. “I need to go and work out.”

“Well now I'm _awake_ ,” Lister purred suggestively, dotting kisses along the man’s neck before lingering to tease his ear. “So how’s ‘bout workin’ out here?”

 

Sex, Lister had once rather eloquently surmised to himself, was like Indian cuisine.

Sure, it was wonderful to sit down at the table to a delicately-crafted, three-course exotic meal (resplendent with chutneys and pakoras) that took the entire evening to lovingly savour. But sometimes what you desperately craved was to devour a deliciously-disgusting, chilli-sauce-soaked kebab up against the wall of an alley.

Sex with Rimmer was inevitably the former - starched perfectionist that he was. And whilst it was always incredibly attentive and measured, Lister often found his mind wandering back to that one mind-blowing time that the man had let both his standards and his self-control slip...

It had happened only a couple of weeks after the hologram’s return from his heroic secondment. Lister had spent a boringly laborious afternoon in the Sleeping Quarters working on some repairs on the Scouters when Rimmer had simply appeared in the doorway, sudden and silent. Not recognising the wild yet piercing focus that flared in his eyes, he’d not even had a chance to ask what the matter was before Rimmer had plucked him up effortlessly and thrust him against the back wall, devouring him hungrily like a starved man.

The sex had been fast and furious, bordering on animalistic. Lister had been swept up in a riptide of passion, riding uncontrollable waves of pleasure before drowning in an intense, shuddering orgasm. Smeg, his cock twitched pleasurably at the very thought.

But when he'd tried to probe the man about it further - hell, even request a second outing at a future date - Rimmer had shuttered down the defences, mumbling mortified apologies before scuttling off with his tail between his legs.

It had definitely been a dirty kebab session. And Lister was _craving_ another.

 

He nipped meaningfully at Rimmer’s neck, marking out the ferocity of the tryst that was on offer. “Fancy gettin’ a sweat on with me?”

Still facing away, Rimmer’s brow pinched in concern, unseen. He was no fool. He knew exactly the sort of approach that Lister was after, but the thought absolutely terrified him.

It had all been thanks to ‘That Evening’ in the Sleeping Quarters. The memory was still punctuated in his mind; filed under ‘N’ for ‘Never Again’ and sub-category ‘S’ for ‘No Shit, Sherlock’. 

He'd been stuck on a frustratingly eventless 10-hour shift in the Drive Room; the empty, meaningless seconds ticking away with Ace’s untapped energies still dangerously pent-up and aching for freedom. At the end of his shift, Rimmer had strode out into the ship focused on one purpose - a furied, satisfying release. He'd headed to the Sleeping Quarters to change clothes for a punishing workout…

...and found Lister.

He'd been completely out of control, Rimmer realised that now. He'd fucked Lister hard and fast, a tiny yet terrible part of his mind not really bothering to care whether his bruising thrusts were causing pain or pleasure. Afterwards he'd been utterly horrified and disgusted with himself, quickly making his excuses to leave and vowing to himself never to make a repeat performance of it again.

Rimmer shrugged out of the man’s embrace, chuckling loftily to cover his panic. “You _know_ I have to go and work it out,” he pressed, quickly pulling on his t-shirt and shorts. “Wasn't it even your suggestion?”

From the warm, enticing depths of the sheets, Lister pouted. “Yeah,” he groused. “But when do you ever listen to me?”

Rimmer finished lacing the old, familiar boots he'd worn whilst he’d been Ace - (nothing else quite felt _right_. They’d already moulded to support the memory of every step of that secondment) - and turned back to face him with a wicked grin. 

“Only when it infuriates you the most.” He stooped down for a kiss, landing it lovingly on Lister’s forehead rather than the lip-snare that the Scouser had been angling for. “Give me a couple of hours.”

Watching him leave, Lister’s sullen rejection quickly retreated to a boyish smirk. If _playing_ dirty was what it took in order to _do_ the dirty, then so be it.

 

By the time the Scouser had dug out the ‘surprise’ that he needed, Rimmer had been in the gym for over an hour. Before he’d even reached the doorway, Lister could make out the echoes of the man’s furied grunts, coupled with the dull thumps of gloves and boots on leather as Rimmer took out his frustrations on the punchbag.

With the man facing away from him and blissfully unaware of his presence, Lister allowed himself a luxurious ogle as he leant against the doorway. _Smeg,_ the hologram was hot when he was angry. Sure, a part of it was the opposition that he found so attractive. After all, whilst he was about as laid back as you could get without being horizontal, Rimmer could get intensely worked up over something as inane as a dirty teaspoon being left on the worktop.

But this? Lister’s cock stirred at the sound of the man’s primal growl that he was now carnally familiar with. The unabashed display of combat skills that the man had used only yesterday to rescue him did nothing but light the touchpaper for the obscenely lustful display that was sure to follow.

It was probably the fact that he was now thinking more with his bollocks than his brains that lead him to sneak up on Rimmer and tap him on the shoulder to show him his ‘surprise’. Indeed, no-one was more surprised than Rimmer who, still in full-on fight mode, span round to swing for his unseen attacker before quickly skewing his punch off course by mere inches as he clocked the true target.

“HAAARRGGHHOHhhbloodybuggeringhell!” The fierce battle cry retreated seamlessly into the nasal notes of his old self. “For the love of everything that is holy, can you _not_ sneak up on me again, please?!” 

Rimmer exhaled his relief shakily, using the back of his wrist to swipe at the sheen of simulated sweat on his forehead. “The last guy that did that was trying to kill me, so understandably my instinct is to - ”

He tailed off as hazel eyes sank south across the grey cotton seas of Lister’s vest to take in the sights down under. When his voice eventually came back to him, he could have sworn it had been returned faulty. After all, he was pretty sure he remembered it being a tad lower than that.

“Sorry, but what the smeg are you wearing?” he managed.

“Jock strap,” Lister explained brightly. “I thought it's what all the sporty types wear when they're workin’ out?”

“Yes, Lister,” the hologram replied pointedly. “Underneath _clothes_.”

As Lister turned round in a pretence of confusion, hazel eyes immediately darted away with a sigh caught somewhere between irritation and muzzled lust. Although the man’s blessed package was safely cradled inside a triangle of white cotton, the plump caramel rounds of his arse were on full display.

“Oh I _see_ ,” Lister laboured as he turned back to face him, his gaze firmly fixed on Rimmer’s and backlit with a less-than-hidden agenda. “Silly me, eh?”

There was a charged, expectant silence that Rimmer was fairly certain words were supposed to fill. The lofty snort that he eventually gave in response was a little strained round the edges.

“I get it,” he nodded. “But if you think wearing a ridiculously revealing garment is going to be enough to distract me, then you're quite mistaken, miladdo.”

With a wry smirk, Lister arched an eyebrow. “My face is up here, big guy.”

The hologram’s eyes met his with a scowl. “I'm quite aware of where it is, thank you,” he grumbled. 

As Rimmer’s head dipped to gruffly tug open the glove’s velcro wrist strap with his teeth, Lister’s libido groaned its appreciation. Clocking the man’s open stare, Rimmer’s brow pinched curiously over his mouthful. “Whu-?” he asked in lost consonants before pulling his hand free. 

“I could help?” Lister probed, mock-innocent.

Peeling off the second glove, Rimmer fixed him with a look. _“Help,”_ he echoed flatly.

“Yeah.” 

Tossing the gloves aside, Rimmer eyed him dubiously before relenting with a roll of the eyes. “Fine,” he huffed as he crossed to the nearby crash mat. “If you're going to insist on ‘helping’, you could at least do something useful like holding my feet during the sit-ups circuit.”

Rimmer sank down to lie back on the mat and drew his knees up in preparation, staring steadfastly at the ceiling. As he heard Lister eagerly station himself at his boots, he wondered whether allowing this had been a particularly good idea. He screwed his eyes closed at the enticing heat of the Scouser’s teasing proximity to his bare legs, muttering incredulities under his breath.

Blowing a jet of air past his lips to steady himself, he risked a glance. Wearing little more than a grin, Lister flashed him a cheeky wink that immediately made the hologram flush hot with desire. Swallowing hard, Rimmer nodded to him with a tiny strangled squeak before grimacing in embarrassment and flopping his head back to the mat. 

Bad idea. Definitely bad.

Restraint tapped him on the shoulder with a frowning reminder of why exactly he was there in the first place. Lust, however, sneered at it, reminding him of who exactly it would be rather fun to _tap_ instead...

Rimmer shook his head to dismiss less-than-helpful thoughts. “You think you’re capable of counting my reps?” That's right. Keep the conversation on track at least.

“Sure,” Lister muttered distractedly as dark eyes trekked over the mountains formed by those impossibly long legs. 

“I mean, it will be higher than ten - which, seeing as that’s your personal poppadom limitation in one sitting, I was worried you may struggle.” Rimmer smiled to himself. Insults. Yes. Insults were good. No flirtations here.

“Oh, ha ha.” Lister smiled to himself. Insults were good. They had always formed the foreplay of this oddball relationship. Even if the man himself didn't know it.

With the hologram suitably distracted setting the timer on his watch, Lister moved onto Plan B. Sliding his palms nonchalantly up and down the sweaty lengths of Rimmer's shins, he stretched up innocently to the peak of the man’s knees before sinking solicitously downwards towards the dark tunnels of his shorts.

A subtle sigh found its escape before Rimmer recaptured if with a marked clear of the throat. “I said hold my _feet_ , Lister,” came the somewhat choked chiding. He flashed him a stern look. “I know you're familiar with anatomy.”

Holding his gaze, Lister landed a teasingly light kiss on the coarse hairs of the man’s knee. “I'm definitely familiar with your - ”

Hazel eyes screwed closed to break the spell. _“Feet,”_ Rimmer ground out.

With an audible grump, Lister dragged back his hands reluctantly until they pinned down the man’s boots. No wonder he never came down to the gym. Working out was so smegging _dull_.

Rimmer’s arse squirmed self-consciously on the mat as his cock stirred in interest. From behind the safety of closed eyelids, he conjured up a mental image of Lister’s GELF bride to try and pour cold water on his racing train of thought - anything to stop his brain repeatedly pointing out how close the man’s mouth was to his crotch. In fact, it had probably been the only time that his now-heated brain had put trigonometry to practical application.

And with a marked clear of the throat, Rimmer began his circuit of sit-ups. Lister blinked his surprise at the speed and brutality of the reps, the man’s mind clearly focused on his gruelling routine and nothing else. He smiled wickedly to himself. This was going to call for some major league levels of distraction.

Every few reps, Lister waited for the precise moment when the man had sunk back to the mat and out of eye contact before easing himself a little closer. He kept each movement slight and subtle, closing the gap between them agonisingly slowly until his chest was brushing undeniably against the man’s legs; his face barely millimetres away from Rimmer’s with each sit up. 

It was slight but oh-so-torturous; the light sensation of Lister’s breath that brushed teasingly against his chin with each rep. It was enough to spark powerful memories of how the man would gasp his pleasure against the simulated skin of his face as he thrust into him lovingly.

Clocking the small suggestive smile that _just_ upturned the edges of Lister’s lips, Rimmer arched a knowing eyebrow, admonishing him breathlessly with each sit-up. “I know -- what you're doing -- and it's not -- going to -- w- ”

As Rimmer sat up a final time, Lister quickly snared two fistfuls of the hologram’s t-shirt before silencing his dismissals by hauling him into a lock of lips. 

Startled despite his suspicions, Rimmer blinked quickly; the hands that once cradled his ears now held aloft in a surrender he wasn't aware he was making. He gasped at the quick suck on his lower lip that then opened his mouth to the advances of Lister's tongue.

He knew he shouldn’t, but -- Restraint urgently flicked through its script, scrabbling for its next line as Rimmer’s crotch hummed its appreciation. He _really_ should be -- _oh, god --_

Relenting, his eyes drooped closed, succumbing to the kiss with a nasal exhale that began as a lofty sigh and ended as a low growl that rumbled in his chest. His hands finally found their solace, stretching around Lister’s back, unthinking.

Lister’s cock throbbed eagerly as Rimmer sank back to the mat, gently tugging his lover by the lips to join him. A smug grin threatened to spread from beneath the kiss as Lister’s forearms settled on the mat either side of Rimmer’s shoulders to straddle his weight.

Sweat-slick hands ran up Lister’s sides, rucking up his vest as they slid lazily up to his shoulders to latch on whilst they continued to kiss one another hard, their tongues each fighting for dominance. Rimmer’s legs snaked around Lister’s before hooking his feet around each of the man’s ankles. Longer legs definitely played to his advantage.

Their kiss grew more heated as they began to rock in each other’s embrace before grinding into one another urgently; the human inhaling sharply through the nose for much-needed breath where the hologram needed none.

The watch on Rimmer’s wrist began to buzz, shattering the illusion. Then suddenly, without warning, Rimmer jabbed out his elbows until Lister’s arms buckled; and with all balance lost, Lister’s world suddenly span. In a single, smooth movement, the hologram quickly rolled them both over until he now lay on top.

Rimmer cocked his head in challenge, frowning light-heartedly. “I'm a lot of things, Listy,” he scolded, breathless, “but I'm no fool.”

Panting, Lister’s teeth dragged thoughtfully across his now-swollen lip. “You are, however, pretty damn hard.”

The pair glanced down between them in unison to where yes indeed, the hologram’s hard-on was painfully obvious.

Scowling, Rimmer released him in a visible ruffle of feathers as he quickly stood, fumbling in a less than subtle attempt to cover himself. “ _Stop_ distracting me. You know I need to get this out my system.”

Lister held his hands aloft in mock-surrender. “Shame though,” he sighed. Although the words suggested relent, the spark in his eyes didn't share the same sentiment. “Cos I thought, seeing as you'd worked up such a sweat already, we could hit the showers together.”

The scowl sank from Rimmer’s face, as if it had already been washed away by more intriguing prospects. He cleared his throat, jabbing a distracted thumb over his shoulder. “B-but there's at least five more circuits to - ” His protests spluttered and died on his tongue as Lister slowly peeled off his vest. “ - do - ” 

As hazel eyes traced their open appreciation over Lister’s naked torso, Rimmer’s thumb hovered limply as his brain tried to jump start his excuses once more. The words _naked, steamy, soapy_ and _slick_ all jostled for his attention, although he was pretty sure none of them belonged in this particular sentence. He swallowed audibly. “ - and um - ”

“Wind your tongue back in,” Lister chuckled enticingly. “You might have better luck talkin’.”

The playful insult did the trick, momentarily snapping Rimmer out of his reverie. “I need to start what I finished,” he asserted authoritatively, before correcting himself with a shake of the head. “I mean, I need to finish what I started.” For smeg’s sake, why were words suddenly so difficult?

Dark eyes flitted in indication to the bulge in Rimmer’s shorts. “Well, if you need anythin’ _finishin’ off_ you know where I am if you _want me_ ,” Lister purred pointedly. He turned slowly to walk away, his arse on full display as he headed for the block of showers. And without even glancing over his shoulder, called out teasingly, “I know you're starin’.”

Rimmer blinked away with a scowl. Smeg. 

Swivelling back on his heels as tightly as he could when one’s shorts elastic was threatening to invalidate their warranty, he glanced sullenly across the gym to see which of the remaining circuits would be easiest to conduct with a raging hard-on.

Rimmer sighed petulantly. As Ace, he’d been subjected to hours of violent interrogation at the hands of vengeful simulants, and he could have sworn that _this_ was crueller torture. It seemed that where hordes of armour-plated killing machines had not succeeded, just one man held the power to make him buckle.

 _Stay focused,_ his Restraint pressed. _The key part of being Ace is to know how to keep your baser desires and drives under control._

Lust snorted its dismissal, filing its nails absently. _Yeah, but he's not Ace anymore, is he?_

There was a long, considered silence before Restraint piped up once again. _Good point, well made,_ it relented, before promptly buggering off on a cigarette break.

 

Amongst the fierce hiss of water spray, Lister’s ears pricked in interest at the sound of booted footfall on the tiles behind him. With every inch of willpower he possessed, he stayed facing the taps on the wall, keeping his breaths low and steady in the clouds of rising steam as he soaped himself, nonchalant. 

“I'm on a strict workout rotation schedule.” Two heavy thuds sounded behind him as a pair of unlaced boots hit the floor. It was a literal throwing down of the gauntlet, before the raw, unvarnished proposal was given voice. “Three minutes is all you're getting.”

As Lister felt a trail of suds slide down his back and tease the crack of arse, lust flared hotly through him as he bit back a shudder; the ruffles as Rimmer peeled off his clothes undeniably audible. 

Right now, his desire for foreplay was ironically similar to the way he viewed a salad garnish on a kebab - pointless, unnecessary, and getting in the way of the fun, meaty bit. After all, he could still taste the man on his tongue; feel the trail of his sweaty hands on his skin that had left him achingly hard. He was _more_ than ready for this.

Lister finally turned to face the now-naked man, granting him permission with just six husky words. “Three minutes is all I need.”

 

Rushing to close the gap between them like a man possessed, Rimmer devoured him hungrily; a hard, urgent clash of lips and teeth as Lister eagerly ground their bodies together.

“Parading around in that ridiculous jockstrap.” Grunting complaints were ground out in a low, gravelly voice between desperate kisses; sud-slicked probing fingers reaching round to tease and open him wider for what was to come. “Arse on show for everyone to see.” 

Lister moaned into his mouthful in response, groaning his delight as the hologram hoisted him up with a strength beyond any mortal, and pressed him into the cold slickness of the tiled wall. 

Wrapping his legs around the man’s waist to steady himself, a shared primal cry of pleasure found its escape as Rimmer pushed slowly but firmly inside of him; rocking steadily back and forth to ease him into the sensation before thrusting hard and fast.

Their mouths fed greedily from one another before Rimmer roughly nosed his face aside to suck and bite a possessive trail from the man’s neck and down to his shoulder as they fucked.

“Ohhh -- ” Lister shuddered desperately, his entire body unravelling from the pit of his stomach outwards. Even as his eyes dropped closed with a moan, the flat, rhythmic slap of wet skin echoed disgracefully across the steamy walls.

For a brief yet powerful moment, they were truly alone in the universe. No-one else but them; nothing else but this heat and desperation between them that gathered into a friction too intense to bear.

The build of his orgasm came far too quickly, Lister’s balls tightening in anticipation. Judging by the increasing speed and urgency of Rimmer’s thrusts, he wasn't going to last too much longer either. “Rimmer -- !” he whimpered. “ _Smeg_ , Rimmer, I’m -- !”

Lister shot out a hand across the slippery tiles, fumbling for some form of anchor, before quivering fingers met cool metal. He latched onto it hard, riding rough and stormy waves of ecstasy before it finally gave way and the pair cried out loudly one after the other; gripping one another tightly as they shuddered through their own climaxes.

 

Apart from blissful panting, the pair fell silent once more. The shower continued to hiss, unperturbed.

In his post-coital warmth, Lister didn't realise how relaxed he was until he felt his bare back sliding down the tiles. Blinking quickly back to himself, he noticed with an equal measure of panic and amusement that the hologram who had once been able to easily lift him with minimal effort, now strained under his burgeoning weight.

“Smeg, you're heavy -- ” Rimmer wheezed against the arms now latched tightly around his neck.

Still entangled, the pair sank to the floor in an inelegant heap, utterly exhausted. Sliding from the man’s embrace as he finally withdrew, Lister sank back against the tiled wall, his body overwhelmingly tired but humming with intense satisfaction.

Something shiny and metallic, marooned in the puddle of soapy water like a lone island, caught his eye. He plucked it up, studying it curiously before glancing up in realisation. A petulant hole stared back at him where the hot tap had once been.

“Oops.” 

At Rimmer’s questioning glance, he held it out in explanation. The hologram batted the worry away with a lazy wave of the hand. “Skutters can fix it,” he mumbled sleepily.

“You think a skutter is gonna get up there?” 

“Shh. Too much talking.”

Lister sniggered, catching the spray of the shower in a cupped hand to wash away the stickiness that clung to his tummy. He lazed in the steamy silence between them until his breath began to slow.

“So?” he eventually prodded with a tap of his toes against Rimmer’s thigh. “Back to the punchbag?”

“Mm - ” Rimmer acknowledged, although his heart clearly wasn't in it. “Or breakfast?” he swallowed, finally catching his breath. “Breakfast would be good.”

“Is that so?” Lister leant into him with a waggle of eyebrows, their faces barely inches apart. “I could smoke you a kipper?” he teased, his Scouse tones tamed back as they mimicked the accent the man had once been famous for.

“Oh, smeg off,” Rimmer groused as he pushed his face away, though the smirk was undeniable.


End file.
